


Better Judgment

by Platform 13 (freshneverfrozen)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshneverfrozen/pseuds/Platform%2013
Summary: Leon and Sherry, still in the shadow of Raccoon City, cross paths with a woman who thought camping in the Arklay Mountains would be a good idea.Or, the one where I pretend there's character development before the thrusting in parts two and three.





	Better Judgment

Usually, it’s the silence that wakes you. Two weeks into the end of the world and your ears still ring from the quiet. From the lack of _anything_. The city on the horizon is dark and still and has stopped sounding like it should. 

It’s the crunch of gravel underfoot that wakes you, the sudden _something_ of it jarring you from your sleep. You sit up on the bed, rubbing your eyes and scowling down the early-morning dark aisle of the camper. It’s become your home and prison; when your friends had invited you with Midwestern hospitality to spend a weekend with them in the Arklay mountains, you had, despite a foreboding tingle at the base of your skull, accepted. They had hitched their aging camper to their truck and hauled you with it out to a nearly deserted campground; late September had emptied the hiking trails. You had agreed to stay behind when your friends decided to drive to the city to pick up what grocery items had been forgotten and you have wondered whether or not that decision had saved your life or damned it. Because they haven’t returned and the city lies slumped in the distance like a body. 

A chill runs from the pads of your feet up your legs as you move to stand quietly, suddenly unwilling to disrupt the stillness inside. Your friend’s husband was - is? - as midwestern as they come and had more than one gun tucked away inside the camper. You found the weapons by accident after the first day of the reports on the radio as you took stock of what was on hand. You had placed the pump-action shotgun by the bedroom folding-door and a .38 by the bedside. Instinct takes your hand to the pistol and you move quietly to the front of the camper. 

The blinds above the couch are half-closed as you lean over to peer outside. It’s early morning, no later than 4 AM if you had to guess, and the surrounding pines make the clearing darker than you can hope to see through. 

So you listen instead. 

It’s quiet, but it is not silent. 

There are steps out there, coming up one of the gravel pathways, and the nearer they get, the less you can hear them as your heart beats away in your chest and the pump of blood is too loud between your ears. You will them, whoever they are or were, to pass by. But yours is the only camper on this side of the park and there is no vehicle out front. They could very well assume that this one is abandoned. 

They do. 

In all your time alone, you’ve run the scenarios through your mind again and again. What would frighten you more? A pack of roving infected or a group of human strays looking for escape? 

The answer, you’re horrified to realize, is humans. You feel it conclusively in the way your hands begin to shake when you hear mumbling through the thin walls. The .38 feels heavy, it’s wooden grip slick as your palms sweat and grow cold. 

You _listen_ and you wish for the silence to return. 

White-hot thoughts dart through your brain, sparking too quickly to reason through the situation and leaving your gut coiled. They’ll be expecting you, or someone, something, when they enter; it won’t be hard to get the door open if they mean to do it. Best to - 

A quiet rapping against the door causes you to flinch and that knot in your stomach threatens to come out through your throat. The sound comes again, hesitant and testing. 

“Hello?” A man’s voice calls, only to be hushed when a second whines beside him, this one softer, higher. “Is anyone inside?” 

Your throat tightens around your voice, squeezing the words out in hardly more than a breath. If you don’t say something, whoever is out there is definitely coming in. If you do say something, whoever is out there will be ready for you when they definitely come in. 

You retreat with slow, even steps over the linoleum floor back to the bedroom. There is a little less than a foot of space between the wall by the door and the edge of the bed, so you place your .38 down within reach and pick up the shotgun instead. You’ll wait to rack the weapon - whoever is out there will hear it, you reason, better to wait until you have them. 

The man calls out again and again, whoever is with him quietly protests. His voice makes bracing your shoulder against the edge of the door more difficult than it should be; your muscles twitch and spasm and you wish you had thought to wipe your palms before you grabbed the second gun. 

“If you are in there…I won’t shoot if you don’t. I’m coming in. Sherry, don’t follow me until I say so.” 

“No, don’t! Leon, wait -” 

Sherry’s voice is clearer this time; she sounds like a child, not a woman, and this Leon sounds younger the more he speaks. 

The door rattling whitens your knuckles and you wait out the sounds of the man wrestling with the locks - it’s cover for you to chamber the round and the moment you to, the gun feels as though it weighs a hundred pounds more. The camper is old and the cheap locks are rusted; they had felt as though they were hardly more than plastic each time you’ve flicked the bolt into place. The door opens minutes or seconds later, you aren’t sure, and before the man - Leon - steps inside, he calls out again. 

“Don’t shoot, if you’re in there. We’ll leave, alright? If someone’s here…we’ll move on.” 

The beam of a flashlight splits the aisle and you tuck yourself fully behind the door. The flashlight cuts past the kitchen and to the bedroom and you see it linger on the disturbed covers of the bed. 

The sudden, gripping sting of _knowing_ is like a knife ripping up your spine. 

_God damn it._

“Come out,” Leon calls, “I know you’re there.” 

His voice is gentle, not suited to the command he gives you, but it doesn’t stop you from flashing the barrel of the gun before you step out, raising the weapon to your shoulder as you do. 

“Get out,” you say, squinting through the light, “Just leave.” 

It feels as though you’re talking to no one - you can’t see him behind the beam of light, just a pair of black boots and the pants tucked into them. 

He must notice you struggling, because a moment later the light is lowered so that it’s shining against your waist. His voice is soft now and as he speaks, you think of spooked horses and their riders. 

“I’ll lower my gun if you do the same,” the light retreats as he talks; he’s backing toward the door, you realize. “I’m going to step outside, alright? Don’t shoot.” 

You don’t shoot and he does as he says he will. Calling to him through the renewed darkness of the camper, you ask, “Who are you? Did you come from the city?” 

“Yeah, we did. What’s left of it. We’re looking for a place to rest, that’s all. We’ll keep moving.” 

“We? Is it just the two of you?” 

For the first time, there’s hesitation in Leon’s voice. “She’s just a kid - don’t shoot.” 

A different kind of electric fear dances through your chest. You wouldn’t shoot a kid, but you understand Leon can’t know that, and you wonder how things must be in the city if his first thought had been that you _would_ kill her. 

None of it matters, you remind yourself. He can’t stay with you; he’s busted your locks, he’s armed…You won’t be sleeping again anytime soon, you know that much. Your eyes cut down the aisle to the kitchen cabinets and you already don’t like the idea that his voice and words bring to mind. 

Sucking in a breath of cold air, you steady yourself. 

“I’m…I’m going to come up front,” you say, “I’ve got my gun so don’t try anything.” 

As you go along, you reach blindly for the cord that dangles from the light fixture in the kitchenette. Pulling it, there’s a click, and then the camper is bathed in yellow light. 

“That’s better,” Leon calls out, his words tapering off into a mumble. 

You want to grumble that you didn’t do it for him; you’re tired of the dark, you suppose. And you didn’t want him blasting you with that flashlight as soon as you were in view. 

You don’t know why you expect him to seem small when you train the barrel of the shotgun on him through the narrow front door, but he doesn’t. How he’s on his feet as battered as he is, you don’t know, but behind the grime and blood, you glimpse handsome, smooth features and clear eyes. From behind him, a small blonde head pokes out. This must be Sherry. She can’t be much older than ten or eleven, blinking at you through wide, frightened eyes. At first glance, Leon could be her older brother - he doesn’t seem old enough to be her father, though it’s hard to tell when he’s half-hidden in shadow. 

Leon studies you as closely as you do him, assessing you from your bare feet up to the gun at your shoulder. Aside from the weapon, you imagine you don’t look like much a threat dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. 

The 9mm at his side hasn’t been holstered, but it’s angled away from you. Two weeks ago, you never suspected you would be in the middle of what basically constitutes a standoff, something that threatens to nearly choke a hysterical laugh out of your throat. The weight of the shotgun seems heavy now, your arms aching from your wrists to shoulders, and you sag against it. As the barrel dips lower, Leon visibly relaxes. 

He introduces himself as Leon Kennedy and when your eyes drag across the RPD patch at his shoulder, he explains that he was with the police department. 

“I heard on the radio that was supposed to be some kind of staging area,” you frown at the blood on him, “I’m guessing that didn’t turn out?” 

From the look on Leon’s face, it certainly did not. 

Wavering at the top step, your eyes dart back toward the kitchen. You can’t afford to feed them - you’ve been steadily depleting the stock of canned goods on the shelves, but there is some instant coffee that you haven’t been brave enough to touch. Thankfully, the water hook-up at the park wasn’t turned off when, and this is just your best assumption, the owners tore out with either all or most of the other visitors behind them. In any case, it’s enough for a cup of something warm. 

The shotgun drops to your side. 

“Do you…do you want some coffee?” Noticing the way Sherry’s eyes dart up to Leon’s face, you think of all the items you’ve shuffled through these past days and a pale blue box of Swiss Miss comes to mind. “There may be some hot chocolate in here somewhere for the kid.” 

Leon shifts on his feet, weighing the odds, and when he moves to holster his gun, there’s an easiness in the air between you. 

Stepping aside, you wave them in. “Come on, I guess. It’ll take a minute - I’ve been boiling the water first.” 

Leon steps up, his eyes sweeping over the interior before he gestures for Sherry to follow. You offer the girl a tired smile that she blinks back at before snaring her fingers in Leon’s belt loops and creeping along on his heels. He glances at the couch, hesitant. It takes you a moment to realize why. 

Noting the state of his clothes, you assure him, “Don’t worry about it.” 

When he and the girl settle down atop the cushions, you can hear the relief in their shared sighs. You’re not completely sure they’ll even be awake by the time you finish the coffee. But another look at Leon cements the flickering live-wire edge he’s trying to hide and you are sure to give him plenty of space as you slip past him. 

Between the two of you, the floor seems as though it’s covered in glass, the sharp, tense corners turned outward. You don’t think he’ll shoot you in the back - you don’t _think_ he’ll shoot you at all - but you leave the shotgun within reach on the counter as you open the cabinets. The space has gone quiet again and with the ringing threatening to return, you’re not sure either of you can stand it. 

Standing on the tips of your toes to grab the instant coffee from the back, you ask, “So…are you and Sherry, what, related? Siblings?” 

“What?” The question surprises Leon and he and Sherry glance. “No…just -” 

In a small voice, Sherry answers for him, “He keeps me safe.” 

Something in your gut tells you that the pair are just trying to survive and that they’ve had a hell of a harder time about it than you have. They say very little while you wait for the water to boil, spooning coffee and hot chocolate into chipped mugs, and the three of you settle into the silence that follows. 


End file.
